


Let it Snow

by Fictionwriter



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionwriter/pseuds/Fictionwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie remembers ghosts of Christmas past</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Snow

**Author's Note:**

> A happy birthday fic for Pushkin666

“Leaving already, Robbie?” Jean Innocent sounded surprised and a little miffed. It was only 5.00pm after all.  
  
Robbie grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am. Thought I’d get an early evening in, what with us having a clean slate, so to speak, at the minute.”  
  
“Yes, well. I suppose you’re right. Make the most of it while you can, before the Christmas rush on domestic violence and murder.” She turned back to her office to answer the jangling call of the telephone before Robbie could deliver the response that was on his lips. Shrugging deeper into his coat he escaped while the going was good  
  
The air outside was crisp and Robbie breathed in the fresh feel of it, letting the chill sting at his lungs. It was a fine night for walking and he headed towards home letting the flow of shoppers and casual strollers wash around him, remembering ghosts of Christmas past when his bairns were small and their eyes would light up at fairy lights and visits to Santa; the promise of presents.  
  
James would no doubt grumble at that and tell him that Christmas wasn’t supposed to be about the presents or Santa. He’d probably give him a lecture on the true meaning and significance, maybe even throw in some profound knowledge of pagan origins. Robbie wondered sometimes what James’ Christmases had been like in his childhood, if he had had the joy of it his own bairns did.  
  
Today was different of course, for him. It was his own celebration of birth. Not that there was ever much celebrating anyway, too close to Christmas for that. But Val would make mulled wine and they would sit together in front of a burning fire once the bairns were in bed and watch the flames dancing on the wood.  
  
He sighed, and pushed the memories away. No point feeling maudlin. That was then and this was now and he had a bottle of red in the flat and a television programme he wanted to watch. The gas heater wasn’t the same as an open wood fire, but it would do. It was all he needed to mark the day.  
  
Snow was beginning to fall now, the crystalline flakes cold as they fell on his cheeks. He quickened his pace, glad when the familiar outline of his home came into view. By the time he reached his gate the world was lost in a haze of snow, the dark outline of a figure standing on his doorstep barely seen and surreal through the gently floating white. He knew who it was.  
  
James stepped forward a pace as Robbie drew closer. His hands were thrust deep into coat pockets and flecks of snow graced his shoulders and hair. Robbie wondered how long he’d been there at his door in the cold.  
  
They were together now, not much space between them and Robbie could feel the touch of breath on his cheek warming the snow-cold skin as James leaned into him and whispered, “happy birthday, Robbie,” the gift of promise in his voice.

 


End file.
